Vanity On A Delirious Mind
by Torniquet
Summary: I saw that you were still so attractive despite the distortion of your face and the tear stains on your cheeks. You still look pretty when you're distorted and stained. [CandiceClaire, Peter]


**I was thinking now that Linderman is gone what will Candice do now? **

**I got my inspiration from watching a program about teens with anemia. This girl was 88 pounds, but still believed she was overweight. I was deeply saddened how people perceive realities which are not true and in the end only damage themselves. **

**Think about it...Candice probably doesn't really look like the petite dark haired girl image she depicts herself as, but changes because she can.**

**envious!Candice/Claire, Candice!Peter/Claire**

**Vainity On A Delirious Mind**

Claire sat on the cold concrete floor with nothing to do, but worry and hope. The room was damp causing her throat to feel sore and irritated. It wasn't really a room, more of a hellhole really, but Claire reasoned if she believed it was a room it would help her state of mind. No such luck.

It had been a few weeks since, while going to visit Peter at his apartment, she had been knocked unconscious only to wake up a prisoner. Claire had not expected that her captor was a woman, who had once worked for Linderman, with reasons of her own.

Claire was not scared that she may never be able to escape from the room and its restrictive walls. She was convinced that any minute Peter, her dad behind him, and maybe Nathan would burst through the door to take her home. She would not be barred by walls for long she told herself.

But for the time being she hated walls. It seemed they served no purpose, but to restrict and restrain her from being found by her loved ones.

She had not been allowed to bathe or brush her teeth. She did not have anything with her, but the clothes she wore. She felt disgusting and that is how Candice wanted her to feel.

Yet she was steadfast that Peter would save her like he had at Odessa so Claire ran her fingers through her hair, doing what she could to look some what presentable when (not if) they came.

The lingering creak of the door opening shifted Claire's eyes in its direction. She held her breath in anticipation as the intruder entered closing the door with a deafening screech behind them. Unfortunately to her dismay it was not her rescue team, but the same woman that had came the day before and the day before that. A petite dark young woman walked in with dominance. Her eyes shimmered with mischief and a smirk displayed on her lips.

Claire stood quickly, a little too quickly for now she felt faint.

"Disappointed it's me? Didn't you miss me?" Candice asked haughtily.

Everyday Candice would enter the room to check on her captive. She would talk to Claire about the Bennett's and the Petrelli's, cruelly reminding her that she was seperated from them. She took delight in seeing Claire in such an awful state.

"In your dreams." Claire muttered.

The dark-haired woman chuckled domineeringly. "You like dreams, don't you my dear? Don't pretend you don't. I hear you at night, every night, for the past few weeks. Its always the same one. You dream that your dad or whoever finds where you are, opens that door and sets you free. Well I come here everyday to remind you that that isn't going to happen. How's that for reality, princess?"

She glared at her prisoner with a taunting sneer.

Claire pressed her teeth together so she wouldn't cry, or say anything that would upset Candice.

"I like messing with you, Claire. It doesn't take much for those tears to fall, and its a beautiful sight when it does. Have you ever looked in the mirror when you cry?" Candice asked somberly.

She continued, "One day I wanted to know what it was like to be you, to be beautiful. You are what today's culture defines as the model for all girls. Perfect teeth, skin, and eyes with the money, popularity, and artificial friends that would make Barbie envious. And I wanted to know if all that made a difference in this society. So I walked into the mall looking like you and you know what the sad, pitable truth about humanity is? Looking like you, I was treated like I was special. People saw me, and admired me though they didn't know anything about me. Their eyes seemed to say 'She's gracing us with her prescence.'"

Candice paused biting the inside of her mouth. "I went to the girls room and cried about the injustice of it. When I looked in the mirror, I saw that you were still so attractive despite the distortion of your face and the tear stains on your cheeks. You still look pretty when you're distorted and stained."

Claire cleared her throat, unsure how to react. She would have sympathized with her if the woman wasn't holding her in this room.

The teenaged girl said cautiously, "I don't see why you're not satisfied with your looks. I think you're pretty."

Candice snapped. "Don't patronize me. You are the ideal image and that's why I'm not satisfied. That's why you're here. I think I'll bring a mirror in here so that you can see what you've become. Your greasy, unbrushed hair needs washed. Your nails aren't maincured. You've worn the same outfit for weeks. You lack color in your cheeks. Under your eyes are dark. And still I can't say you look ugly."

"You're insane. Why me? Why are you jealous of me? There are other girls who have it all. Why target all your bitterness on me?" Claire seethed.

Candice scoffed. "Because other girls don't have it all do they? They may be special, but you surpass them. Not only do you have everything, but you also have an extraordinary power!"

The woman pulled a handgun out of her back pocket, her weapon of choice for the day. Candice aimed skillfully at the younger girl who had pressed her back against the wall.

Everyday she killed Claire, she killed what she wasn't.

Her favorite method was stabbing. Candice said it gave her more satisfaction, releasing her malice. Claire tightly closed her eyes and waited for the bullet to pass through her heart or head. She gasped and opened her eyes when she felt something enter her hand. It didn't hurt, but she watched transfixedly as the hole in her palm closed.

"No matter what I do to you, your wounds always heal. Just like no matter what I do to make you unattractive, you always remain lovely. Do you know how frustrating that is?!" she aimed again and shot Claire six times.

Candice breathed in deeply, calming down as Claire regenerated.

She elegantly walked to Claire and wrapped her finger around a gold, dirty lock.

Her nose curled in repugnance and her lips twisted into a wicked smile. "Ew."

The grin dropped into an expression of intense hatred. "Do you feel sickened with yourself? Do you feel filthy? Like how I've felt."

The blonde girl stared at the ground thinking how no one should feel nasty, wishing to be far away from where she now stood. She yearned for a warm embrace to feel loved...and clean.

The loathsome glare faded as a mischievious smile took its place. "I can't damage your heart physically, but I can hurt you emotionally in a way that won't heal. I can't make you look ugly, but I can make you feel repulsive."

With that she turned, "Until tomorrow, my pet."

The door shrieked when it slammed shut. Claire shuddered and fell slowly to her knees. The cold, damp room was all that embraced her.

She felt like she wanted to cry, but she couldn't. She wondered what Candice was planning and began to fear for the safety of Peter, Nathan, her dad, and the rest of those she loved. She again tried to be optimistic. There isn't going to be a tomorrow, Claire thought in response to Candice's farewell, because that night they would come to free her. Yet she couldn't seem to believe the thought and that's when the tears filtered her green eyes.

It always took her a long time to fall asleep because her restless mind would not give her peace and it was uncomfortable sleeping on concrete with a thin excuse for a blanket.

Candice had said, "When you have the luxury of beauty, it is selfish to ask for any more luxuries."

Claire cleared her throat as she heard a slow, quiet squeak from the door. She sat up her heart pacing in anxiety. It couldn't be Candice she only came once a day. As she saw Peter carefully enter and close the door quietly behind him, Claire released a sob feeling relieved and blessed. She hurried to her feet, clutching her hands on his shirt afraid to let go.

She began to weep as she whispered, "You're here."

Peter looked at her blissfully astonished that he had found her. He asked with great concern. "Are you okay?"

She nodded eagerly. "I am now. Let's go."

"Wait," he said sadly. "You didn't give up hope, did you? Did you think I wouldn't come for you?"

Claire was touched by his need not to let her down and told him reassuringly, "No, Peter never. I knew you would."

"Is this how you imagined it would be? Like this?"

His dark alluring eyes gazed into her, stilling her breath.

She smiled contently. "Exactly like this. And this is the part where you take my hand and we start running far away from here."

He nodded. His index finger touched her cheek as he said softly, "What about this part?"

His lips captured hers. Claire's eyes widened in surprise that he was kissing her. As much as there was nothing else she wanted, she wished it wasn't happening, not now when her breath reeked and her face was dirty. As Peter pulled back and looked at her with that same loving gaze, she tasted her bottom lip which he had kissed.

Unfortunately Claire's happiness, like all dreams, did not last long and faded. She watched in horror as Peter transformed to Candice who cackled heartily. She released her grip on what was now her captor. Her mouth quivered as a look of disbelief consumed her face.

"Was that not how you dreamt it?" Candice mocked with a grin.

Claire looked past Candice and called out weakly. "Peter."

"He was never here, my dear." she responded with pride.

Claire knew she was right, but it had felt so real. It was real...even if it wasn't.

"Please Peter was here," she whimpered as she began to sob.

"There, there." Candice consoled her.

She looked at the ceiling. "Come back please," she cried out to him, wherever he was.

Candice ran her finger along Claire's tear line. Claire grimaced.

The dark-haired beauty said solemnly, "Even when your broken you're beautiful...I can make your dreams true Claire. If you can do the same with mine."

Claire looked at the woman suspiciously. "What do you want?"

"I want someone as gorgeous as you to want me, make me feel gorgeous too." Candice said vulnerably.

"No!" she cried as her stomach turned ill.

"You only have to think I'm Peter," she explained transforming into him as if to show her.

Claire saw Peter, but she knew it wasn't him. She wanted nothing more than to see him, feel him, taste him. And it would be so easy to forget the reality that it was really Candice, if she wanted to enough, but she shook her head crying hard.

Because as much as she wanted Peter, she wanted him to save her from this twisted, trapped reality more. And you can only have a dream _or_ what is truth; not both. Claire chose not to delude herself.

Candice felt bruised and pain at being refused, and filled with rage. She forcefully pushed the girl's back against the stone wall. Claire told herself the hate and anger that Peter's face directed at her wasn't really his. It was Candice's. Still she closed her eyes finding his expression unbearable to see. Candice began pulling at Claire's hair. She then wrapped it tight around her hand as she slammed the back of Claire's head repeatedly against the hard wall.

Claire's wails of pain and mercy were ignored. It's Candice, her mantra affirmed with each violent impact into the concrete. Yet that was hard to fathom when her eyes opened and behind the blur was Peter. Again they shut as her anguished sounds extended the hollow room.

Candice's hands were covered in Claire's blood before she quit. Feeling the release of her hair, Claire opened her eyes to see Peter's face so close to hers, looking more relaxed and content with what he had done. A mournful cry escaped her lips, seeing his pleasure in hurting her.

Knowing that this was not Peter did not comfort her, not when what she had seen looked very much like him. Her mind did not cease to lament. How could he have done this to her when he loved her and she him?

Peter's, or rather Candice's, bloody hand touched Claire's cheek. Claire shivered at the now gentle touch of Peter's hand drenched of her blood. She whimpered as she closed her eyes. The gashes on the back of her skull had now mended. She felt a kiss on her lips, but her heavy heart ached too much to push him, no her, off of herself.

She heard Peter say softly, before leaving her in her misery, "Even when your broken you're beautiful."

She died a bit inside when she heard _him_ say that, but that's okay. She died everyday anyway.

**Feedback is like socks you perfer white good ones, but will take any.**


End file.
